


i'm just an animal (looking for a home)

by queerofcups



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 21:46:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15128468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerofcups/pseuds/queerofcups
Summary: A festival snap shot.Written for phandomficfests' Summer Sounds flash fest





	i'm just an animal (looking for a home)

"That’s a bit odd isn’t it,” the journalist says, her sunny smile never wavering, “Surely, with the tours and books and games and all, you’ve got enough to get separate flats!”

For a moment that might have been ten years, but was probably only a few seconds, there is only the sound of the festival going on around them.

Phil’s brain goes everywhere. This was a terrible idea, it's hot, he feels trapped in his shirt, and he’s not sure why anyone invited them to a music festival again. He’s not sure why they’d agreed. She’s right, they don’t need BBC money anymore, far from it. They don’t get interviewed anymore, maybe that’s why his tongue feels like lead, his brain moving so slow in the summer heat.

But Dan, shakes his head and ducks his head, not to hide his smile, just to give the interviewer some pretense of bashfulness, his glittery cheeks sparkling in the sun.

“It’s not always about money, you know?” He glances over at Phil, “Sometimes you just want to be with the people that make your head quiet down for a little while. Our flat is like that, all the time.”

She sits back, seeming satisfied with that answer and launches into the closing niceties--where to find them, where to find their stuff, hopes that they have a killer rest of the festival.

It’s the last of the scant few interviews they’d had to do today. Phil has convinced himself that this is fine, they knew their career had an expiration date and he’s never going to complain about not having to talk with people he doesn’t know.

And. Well. Things will change when the book comes out.

“Earth to Phil,” Dan says, intentionally walking into him to send him stumbling a few inches away and back down to earth.

“The book won’t sell as well if you tell them beforehand,” Phil says, because it's the easiest thought to put into words. There are other things that are harder to say: that he’s frustrated that there are people that don’t know just by looking at them, that their relationship is something they’re still making money off of, that he hadn’t had an answer ready for that question, like it hasn’t been simmering just below every interview for years now.

“Oh yeah?” Dan says, glancing over at him. He’s wearing some kind of awful, lovely black romper that would probably be suffocating if it wasn’t so thin and between this morning someone had anointed him in glittery body paint--it's turquoise lines following his cheek and jawbone, curious purple squiggles down the long length of his arms, a touch of fuschia on an earlobe. People look at him, but Phil’s certain most of them aren’t looking at Dan Howell, formerly danisnotonfire but Dan Howell, the really really fit bloke gracing them with his style.  
Phil isn’t doing terribly--deep purple shorts and a thin white shirt that reminds him more of Troye than himself--and he allowed Dan to knock little dots of bright yellow from his fingertips to his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Phil says, walking in the direction of some bright, bouncy synth. There’s no one they’d planned to see and they’ve been letting their whims lead them from one soundstage to another. It’s nearly evening now, the pink flush of the sky going plum and navy and Phil’s nearly ready to go, ready to leave all of this behind for the comfort of air conditioning and no one asking questions.

He’s about to say as much when Dan stops suddenly, grabs his hand and tugs him close. Phil goes, because he always goes and he barely remembers to be surprised when Dan’s arms wrap around him.

“You’ll love me til my heart stops,” Dan sings quietly in his ear, humming the rest of the line. He holds Phil until Phil gets with the program and they sway, too slow, to the cover song. Phil forces himself to close his eyes and not care if anyone is taking photos. They’ll know soon, anyway.

The song ends and when Phil opens his eyes, it's nearly night. He can still see Dan’s smile, mischievous and pleased. Festival goers pass by them on all sides, but for Phil, it's just the two of them, wrapped up in summer heat and each other.

“The book will do fine,” Dan says, turning around to take a selfie, “We’re more than fine. We’re good, Phil.”

Phil sighs, smiling into the camera. His head feels just a little quieter, now.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Talking Heads' This Must Be the Place aka one of my favorite love songs ever.


End file.
